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(<$ 



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LIBRARY -OF CONGRESS. 



- \ w i — n — ■ 

Chap. Copyright No.. 



4£44- 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




bx Tom Hall 



(Author of "When Hearts are Trumps/' etc* 



New York 

Trederick 7X. Stokes Company 

Publishers 



i 






31695 



Gopsrtflbt 

1809 

3f rebcdcfo B. Stokea 
Company 



f 



\i 







acknowledgment 

Among the numberless courtesies which 
the author has received from editors, in 
the last ten years, is their unvarying gen- 
erosity in giving him permission to use, 
in book form, matter they have paid for 
and copyrighted. 

To them he expresses his thanks — 
especially to the editors of " Munsey's 
Magazine," " Truth," " Ainslee y s Maga- 
zine," " The Criterion," and " The Mew 
York Ledger." 

T H. 
New York, March 2$d y i8gg. 





f 



Contents* 

Take Care, 

On Christmas Day, . 

Snared, 

The Right Way, 

After Vacation, 

The Clock Speaks, 

Which? 

Her Triumph, 

Between the Dances, 

Christmas Song, 

Unkissed on Christmas, 

A Difference, 

The Coming of Spring, 

The Country Girl, . 

Cupid out of Practice, 

Hearts, 

My Valentine, . 

The Making of the Song, 



i 

2 

3 

5 
6 

7 
8 

9 
ii 

13 
15 
16 

i7 
18 

i9 

21 
22 
23 



l 

1 






S) 



i 



ii 




**r% 




A Melancholy Reflection, 

Love's Arrow, 

A Correction, 

Her Wish, . 

In Trouble, 

His Awful Fate, 

Just a Parody, 

Locations, . 

Love in Court, 

Maid of Gotham, 

My Cutter, 

One Fond Kiss, 

A Parody, 

The Straw Ride, 

A Thanksgiving Dream, 

They Were Seven, 

Perfectly Safe, . 

A Proper Girl, . 

A Woman's Way, 

A Beauty, . 

An Impossibility, 




25 
26 
27 
28 
29 
30 
3i 
32 
33 
35 
37 
38 

39 
40 
42 
43 
45 
46 

47 
48 

49 










In Love, 50 

The Examination of the Co-ed, 51 



At the Carmelites, . 

Thine and Mine, 

Just Suited, 

Buy Low Baby, . 

She Gave Me Away, . 

My Fate is Sealed, . 

My Superior Fraction, 

The Wife, . 

The Artist, Time, 

But One, 

Her Boys, 

Gettin' Afraid of God, 

Boy Lost, . . 

Too Late, 

Prayer or Curse, 

In the Lists, 

Illusions, 

Blue Days and Bright, 

The Book of the World, 



53 
54 
55 
56 
57 
58 
59 
60 
61 

63 
64 
66 
70 

7i 
72 

73 
74 
75 
76 



1 

1 



\ 



I 




xi 



3W> 




The Rose and the Woman, 

Dreams, 

Two Fancies, 

Where are You? 

In Starlight, 

Rose and Pink, . 

Engaged, 

May and December, 

To Thisbe, . 

The Rarest Gem, 

The Pebbles, 

The Falling Star, 

In the Night, 

Nature's Babe, . 

If, ... 

A Motion Withdrawn 

Practical, . 

The "New" Poet, 

May Day, 

Pugilistic Punch, 

To a Thermometer, 






7* 
80 
82 
84 

85 
86 

87 
88 
89 
90 

9i 
92 

93 
94 
95 
96 

97 

98 

100 

101 

102 






Xll 



^^^^rf^\^ 





I OVE is a gambler, 

Watch him with care, 

The roistering rambler 
Will anything dare. 




He'll play with a beggar, 
He'll sport with a king ; 

A fortune he'll wager, 

Gold — fame — anything. 

Watch the cards — cease your chiding, 
He's false — you'll believe 

When I tell you he's hiding 
The hearts up his sleeve I 





/^N Christmas Day a maid and I 

Were walking very slow 
From church, and all the grayish sky 

Was rilled with falling snow. 

I hoisted an umbrella up 

To guard her from the storm; 

Half filled with happiness my cup, 
My heart with love was warm. 

"Dear me," I sighed, "here is a go, 
There's not a soul in sight, 

If I but had some mistletoe 
My heart indeed were light. 

"Unfortunate am I, though big, 

A most unlucky fellow.' ' 
"Why, dear," she cried, "I tied a sprig 

On top of the umbrella." 



I 




M 5 ^ 



S^^^^f 



Snared 




\X7HEN first I met sweet Nell, 
My lad, 

When first I met sweet Nell — 
My friend he warned: " There danger lies, 
Right in her sparkling, roguish eyes, 

And you must heed it well." 

I laughed at his alarms, 
My lad, 

I laughed at his alarms. 
I made my bow and smiled at ease — 
Pretended she was hard to please 

For one who had few charms. 

But now my grievous plight, 

My lad, 
But now my grievous plight 
The situation alters. Lo! 
She laughs to see me suffer so 
__ And I sleep not at night. 



a 







For " nay " she will not say, 
My lad, 

And " yea " she will not say; 
All day I grovel at her feet, 
And swear that e'en her taunts are sweet, 

And cannot go away. 



42 




f^pl ^J^^^r ^^ 



Zbc IRfgbt Tlfflae. 

f~\ WOULD ye win a woman's heart 
"" To keep in your possession? 
Go practice ye the soldier's art — 
His glorious profession 1 




O, would ye in her bosom place 

That wondrous " fellow feeling " ? 

Go march to her with a " right face," 
And aim at her while kneeling I 





r\ SWEET Summer Girl, 

My poor heart's in a whirl, 
I'm engaged to six hundred and forty of you. 

And now every day 

My respects I must pay 
To each in a love laden letter or two. 






The scheme has been played 
Of a typewriter maid 
To attend to this sort of thing, — see it is 

done. |l 






But if I try that pass, 
I'm afraid that the lass 
Will but swell out the number to six forty- 
one. 



y 




"M3 

Zbc fllocft Speaks* 



^ <( AH dear, oh dear, I've seen a sight 
That gave me such a shock, 
When Harry Plume called here last night.' ' 
(The speaker was a clock.) 

" He held our Fanny in his lap, 

And kissed her when he pleased; 

And how the impudent young chap 
Our dear Miss Fanny squeezed! 

M He told her she was his for life 

And could not get away. 
He said she'd be his little wife 

Forever and a day. 

"He held her hands and kissed them. 
Whew! 

Three hours I ticked in vain, 
3) Until he grabbed my own hands, too, 
And turned them back again.' ' 



)^%, 




5«^JI?^ 








TRBbicb? 






T N a letter he wrote from the city 

He called her a u pretty young girl." 

He's a fellow that's awfully witty, 

And he keeps all the girls in a whirl. 






Now a compliment meant he or pity? 

Should she kiss him or wish he were 
hung? 
Was the accent he meant on the " pretty" r*-i\SJ$ 

Or was it to be on the " young" ? 



■ 






C HE sat like a queen looking down at them 

all— lilt 



all 

While seven gallants bent before her — 
For she was a debutante at her first ball, 
And the seven were there to adore her. 
The tributes they whispered were long and 
sincere, 
She breathed the faint perfume of roses, 
And there floated those strains, softly sweet 
to her ear, 
That no one but Chopin composes. 
No wonder she blushed! 'T was a triumph 
indeed ! 
The seven gallants all proclaimed it; 
And even her rivals were bound to concede 
That the poor word "success" but mis- 
named it. < 



i 



M 1 ^&M^ 



9 



S *C55 







fCjJ 




No wonder she blushed! For a blush she 




had need; 
'Twas not pride in her triumph that drew it. 
! sat there a slave to ambition and greed — 
A chattel, for sale, and she knew it. 




,Kf ^W 



f 






She massed her forces on my right — 






between tbe ©ancea* 






DETWEEN the minuet and waltz 

It all occurred. I took my chances. 

My rashness is my worst of faults. 
I fell a victim to her glances. 






A baby moon the scene enhances, 



A garden sleeping in the night. 

(We'd strolled away from the Miss 
Nancys.) 

A stealthy sigh was her vidette. 

With one stray curl she made a charge. 
The summons to the minuet 

Was signal for attack at large. 

Her dainty lips my strength defied. 

I charged her breastworks bolder when, 
She captured both my arms — and cried 

A little on my shoulder then. 



k 



n 




A happy prisoner am I, 

Captivity like mine entrances. 
Release nor ransom would I buy. 

It all occurred between the dances. 



r 






^im 






4gf83s=— If^U 



Cbtidtmaa Song. 

M O W sing- ye a song of the pipe and the 







bowl, 



Rifolderolla! 



?- 



w 




King Christmas is with us, the jolly old soul, 
Rifol de rol la! 
The wife in her chamber, the maid in her 

kitchen, 
The children, quite sure of one day without 

switching 

And grandfather, too, with his rosy old poll, 
Sing, Tu ral I u ral, Ri fol de rol la! 



Sing Hail to the Holly, sing Ho Mistletoe ! 

Rifolderolla! 
Sweet Mary's forgiven her ranting young 
beau, 

Ri fol de rol lafeH 




And all through the house is the sound of 

their kissing. 
There's never a minute or second they're 

missing, 
And Mary's as red as a rosebud, O Ho! 

Sing, Tu ral I u ral, Ri fol de rol la! 





CHE stood beneath the mistletoe, 
And twenty men were near; 

She sighed and murmured gently, " Oh," 
And not a man would hear. 



She was a maiden, too, — but then 

The oldest one alive. 
While these were somewhat youthful men, 

She was quite forty-five. 

I led her hence and told her 

A secret of such blisses. 
(Oh, I am growing bolder) 

" Age sweetens wine — not kisses." 






a SHfference* 



YXT HAT ho ! Look out there 
roadl 

With tinkling bells, steeds neighing 
(They never drew a happier load) , 

Dan Cupid's with us sleighing. 






w% 



Gbe Coming of Spring 

'"THE other day 

Spring passed this way 

With laughing lips and eyes. 
She scattered flowers 
For hours and hours 

And painted blue the skies. 

With brush unseen 

She painted green 
The meadow and the hill. 

In each bird's throat 

She put a note — 
A love exultant thrill. 

She painted red 

Maid's cheeks, 'tis said, 
Set their young blood a- jumping; 

And as for me, 

Just look and see, 
And hear my heart a- thumping. 



m 




i.7 





Cbe Country <5frl* 

THERE was a girl in our town, 
And she was wondrous wise. 

Her golden hair was hanging down 
Her back, as you surmise. 

In love the maiden chanced to fall — 

We all thought it a pity — 
With a rich young fellow, straight and tall, 

Who lived down in the city. 



The rich young fellow was a brute; 

He never thought of marriage: 
But she won her breach of promise suit, 

And now rides in a carriage. 

*f r ^ 



18 









th J 



% 



CupiD out of practice* 

VOUNG Cupid caught them on the beach; 

The moon was full and mellow, 
And she was pretty as a p^ach — 

A love-sick youth, the fellow. 

" Ho, ho; " said Cupid, " work to do! 



<*5^ 



n 



I'm sadly out of practice. 
The moonlight makes it harder, too. 
I'm getting old, the fact is." 

He fired an arrow; it went wide, 
And pierced two little fishes, 



And they were married at high tide 
With all their friends' best wisheSc 

He wedded a lobster to a whale, 

A sculpin to a flounder; 
A bachelor blnefish, nose to tail, 

He pierced a sixty pounder. 





^g 






" Four times I've fired. Great suffering 
Scott! " 

He cried in consternation: 
" If I get on like this, Lord wot, 

I'll marry off creation. 

11 Four times I've fired; I've lost my art. 

Four times I've fired and missed her, 
I'll try once more." He hit her heart, 

And then the fellow kissed her. 









20 



*— 









f>eart0* 

"f^* IVE me your heart, my pretty maid," 

I said with gentle passion ; 
For to steal the heart of a winsome maid 

Is now quite out of fashion. 



" Kind sir," quoth she, " I give it you, 

Not even asking mother, 
And here's another one. That's two, — 

Another and another! " 

And she kept on to my chagrin 

With spots, ace, Jack, King, Queen. 
Hearts was our game; she played to win, 

And gave me all thirteen. 



d&B Valentine. 

Aft Y valentine? Ah let me see, 
My valentine to her! 

A thing of beauty it should be 
To make her pulses stir. 



And it should tell her of my love 
As strong as flooding tide; 

As steadfast as the stars above, 
Yet something she can hide. 

And it must be a thing of worth, 
And yet not cost too much 

With money, since my hour of birth, 
I've seldom been in touch. 

I have it, yes, I'll send it in 
Parenthesis like this ( ). 

I'll save my little store of tin 
And send my love a kiss. 





















Cbe /baking of t be Song, 

THE LADY. 

C IR poet, sir poet, come write me a lay, 
That the world will go singing a year and 

a day. 
Come write me a song of a heart that is 

broken, 
Of love that is ocean deep, still never spoken ; 
Of a maiden a sighing alone and in tears, 
And a brave youth a dying, unconscious of 

fears. 

THE POET. 

Fair lady, thy servitor strikes not his lyre 
Save when it is tempered by love's fiercest 

fire; 
And the chords of his lyric must e'er be 

attuned 
To the woe of his heart, to the pain of his 

wound. 




F The fair lady sighed, and the poet deplored. 
The fair lady cried, and the poet felt bored. 
The lady then laughed, and the bard gave a 

start, 
While Cupid a shaft drove straight through 

his hard heart. 
The fair lady mocked at the poet's sad 

plight — 
And the song strains all flocked to the poet 
that night. 




M 



i! 





a Aelancbolg IReflection, 

VOUNG maids they are so very dear — 

The very dearest creatures, 
With eyes so innocent and clear 

And dainty, dimpled features. 

Our lives they bless ; our hearts they cheer; 

We nothing can deny them; 
But still it's sad when they're so dear 

To think we have to buy them. 



~/*b 



vt 






£ 







^ 






2l 




"\ X 7HEN Love his arrow speeds to us 
It wounds without a pain. 

We simply thank the little cuss, 
And bid him shoot again. 



We are the happiest of men, 
And gaily go about; 

But, oh, the awful anguish when 
We draw that arrow out! 




ifF^m 





% Correction* 

11 A RAG and a bone and a hank of hair." 
That is Woman, according to Kipling. 

(Jove! What won't an Englishman dare?) 
But don't believe the talented stripling. 

A mouthful of honey, star eyes a pair, 

Cheeks made of roses and lips running 
wine, 
All wrapped up in satin and labeled ' ' With 
care," 
That is the make-up of Woman divine. 

And just peeping out from each velvety 
shoulder 
Two little wings not yet ready to fly, 
That when they are stronger, and older and 
bolder 
Will help us poor men to our home in 
the sky. 






Ibet TKHteb, 



T DO not want a noble Duke — 
Unless it is a mighty right, 

That by strong blow and not by fluke 
Can win a fortune in a fight. 

I want to wed no Baron land, 

Or finical and fussy Marquis, 

Who's as devoid of gold as sand, 
And has complexion of a darky. 

No Prince, unless he prints to sell, 
Some paper to a good amount. 

In fact my secret here I tell, 

I'd like to wed a bank a' Count. 






&f, 





I 






* 



%. 









1fn trouble* 

T 'M in love with a curl, 

With a blush, with a pout. 

I'm in love with a girl. 
Shall I ever get out? 

Yes, I'm sentenced for life. 

Shall I ever get out? 
Yes, I've taken a wife. 

Don't know what I'm about. 

And she's locked all the doors, 
Women's rights now to spout 

To her friends (they're all bores). 
Shall I ever get out? 



M 



X 




2 9 



f>te awful jfate. 

'T'HE youth stood on the ballroom floor 
Whence all but him had fled. 

('Twas a summer hotel, and the other four 
Young men had gone to bed.) 



Three hundred girls sat side by side, 
With hop cards in their hands; 

And each one hoped to be his bride 
Ere the frost was on the sands. 

•' The youth, oh, where is he ? " we cried, 

As we sipped morn's perfumed breath 
With a tear in his eye the clerk replied: 
" That youth was danced to death.' ' 






30 




%A*ft^r*»§^r% 



Just a ©aro&e, 

BY THE SUMMER GIRL. 

DREAK! break! break! 

On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! 
But, oh, for the presence of just one man 

To come and make love to me ! 

Oh, well for the fisher maid, 

As she sings with her brother at play, 
But I am so envious of the jade 

I could see her in Botany Bay. 

And well for every one, 

For every one but me. 
Oh, to be anywhere under the sun 

Except by the tiresome sea! 






Break! break! break! 

On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! 
I'd give my fortune for just one man 

To come and make love to me. 










C HE dared my lips to try it. 

I kissed her on the sly. 
I kissed her on the quiet. 

I kissed her on the eye. 

I kissed her on the shoulder. 

I kissed her finger tips. 
And then as love grew bolder 

I kissed her on the lips. 

I kissed her East and West. 

I kissed her North and South. 
But the place I love to kiss her best 

Is on her pretty mouth. 




33 




TPO Cupid's court she took the case, 

A plain tiff was the trouble. 
She'd fallen out with Charley Chase, 

And in with Bow and Bubble. 

Now Cupid sat in gown and wig 

With little Puck assisting, 
While Bow and Bubble, small and big, 

As lawyers, did the twisting. 

" What is your age ? " asked little Puck. 

" Dam — age, sir, is the question,' ' 
Roared Bow. Said Puck, " We'll be in luck 

If you'll avoid suggestion." 

M 'Tis breach of promise," loudly cries 
Old Bubble. He o'erreaches; 

For Cupid smilingly replies, 

"/know Love has no breeches." 



§t 



v If 



JiV\ 




V 



I> 



Such were the points of every sort, 
The lawyers f ought like fury, 

Until the case went out of court 
With a divided jury. 




The bold defendant laughed aloud, 
The plaintiff wept most timely ; 

Then Puck called " Order I " to the crowd, 
And spoke these words sublimely: 

11 That damages they'd not agree 

To give," said Puck, " 's infamous; 

And therefore we'll be blest if we 
Don't give you a man-dam-us." 





34 




V§£f2%& 







/BbatD of (Botbam* 

AID OF GOTHAM — and my heart — 
Give, oh, give me back a part 
Of the cash you deftly took 
From my leather pocketbook. 
I am busted. Have a care. 

•JB9MS -b s;u3S3jd9i 3U![ siqx 

I am a New Jersey lad. 
'Tis the first time I've been bad. 
Bowery beer, my purse and thou 
Were more than happiness enow. 
All I want is ferry fare. 



I 

in 

t 



•JB3MS p3^9AUT p"BS B UreSy 




35 









p£$V(ft 



Maid of Gotham, I am broke. 
Oh, I was a silly bloke. 
I would fly to Jersey City. 
Think of me this once with pity. 
If you won't, why, then, beware! 

•;re9M.s 12 spiOD3J 'oo; 4 3Uij srq; ion 





36 



^ 



d&B Cutter 

" T 'VE bought a new cutter,'' 
I told every girl. 
They all went in a flutter 
To see which I'd whirl 



I 



I 



Through the downy, white snow, 
Sitting sweet at my side ; 

For the " first " one you know, 
They picked out for my bride. 

I bought a new cutter, 

As I am alive, 
But never a girl 

Did I take out to drive; 

For this, my new cutter, 

Was merely a knife. 
And now they all cut me. 

I'll ne'er find a wife. 



i 



I 



f 










ft 

% 



©ne jfonD frtsa* 

/^\NE fond kiss, and then we sever, 

One farewell, alas, forever! 
We've engaged been all the summer — 
Our flirtation's been a hummer. 

But at length the season's over, 
And we both fly back to cover. 
O'er the precipice of parting 
Now you drop me as we're starting. 

Had I never loved so kindly, 
I had never loved so blindly, 
Never met you, little witch-er, — 
Why I'd be one ring the richer! 







^V^ A 



t 3 ^ 






a l>aro&£. 

DEDICATED TO THE SUMMER GIRL. 






RATHER ye sweethearts while ye may, 

Old Time is still a flying; 
And this same lad who loves to-day 

Afar may soon be hying. 

The glorious orb of night, the moon, 

Will lend his aid unto you. 
Summer is short — its end comes soon; 

Coquette not — let them woo you. 

Tis better twenty rings to wear, 

That mean each one a wedding, 
Than have the gray threads tinge your hair 
While maiden walks you're treading. 











Zbe Straw IRi&e* 

MOW hitch up your horses, though weather 

be raw, 
Now get the old sleigh out and fill it with 

straw, 
Now pack in the girls and the boys side by 

side. 
Crack! crack! we are off for a jolly straw 

ride. 

Now we trot down the street, now we pass 

the hills by, 
Now comes the dark wood where the girls 

will be shy. 
Squeeze them tight (for it's cold) till they're 

laughing and red. 
Kiss them quickly — or some one will get 

there ahead. 













'>* 






$£@ 



I 



Now over the river, now under the arch, 
Now turn to the right at the skeleton larch, 
Now down through the dale where the flow'rs 



grow in June ; 
And home by the light of the young crescent 

I 










J 



ate* 



41 




Sr 



T 



T DREAM of my love 

With her laughing blue eyes. 
And I dreamt that her glove 

Was a cavalier's prize. 

I dreamt that I won it 

In tourney and fight. 
And when I had done it 

She smiled with delight. 

So I cried, " None shall tame me," 
And " For you I die." 

And now who can blame me 
For eating mince pie? 



1 

i 




fa 



Gbeg WLete Seven. 

T MET a pretty summer girl — 
Eighteen years old, she said; 

She seemed to be quite in the whirl, 
A very thoroughbred. 

" Have you a fiance, sweet maid ? " 

I asked with courtesy. 
" A fiance ? I've seven,' ' she said, 

And wondering looked at me. 

4 * Two of them in Chicago lie 
(In Rome as Romans doing) 

And in New York two others try 
My patience with their wooing. 

" And one in Boston writes each day 
To keep me true — ha, ha! 

The other two, they simply stay 
In Philadelphia. 





" Now add them up," she said, "and you 
Will find the number seven." 

44 Nay, five! " said I. "Don't count the two 
Who are in that Quaker Heaven. 

" You see there are but five," said I. 

" Alive and out of Heaven." 
Quick was the summer girl's reply: 

" Oh, mister, they are seven." 



" But those in Philadelphia 

Are dead — their sins forgiven — 
Like all else in that town." But still 
The summer girl would have her will, 

And said, "Nay, they are seven," 





44 




©erfectlg Safe* 

T A/E shall go no more a roving, 

Maiden mine. 
Ah, no more of moonlight loving, 

Dear, divine. 
Now the winter has set in, 
And the chair that we sit in 
Is not easy to get in — 

Which is fine. 

Winter blusters round without. 

Dainty dear. 
Papa blusters all about. 

Never fear. 
To such things I am inured 
By the past I have endured. 
And I've had my life insured, 

In his company. 



■^ 




V^-» 7 ' 



45 




a ©roper (Birl* 

CHE was a maid, so very shy! 

The very modestest of lasses ! 
She would not gaze with naked eye, 

But ever used sedate eyeglasses. 

The straight and narrow path she walked, 
Her soul was white as budding callas; 

When she recited Poe she talked 

About the " Pallid break of Pallas.' ' 



I begged a kiss. She bade me wait — 
While thus intent she bade me linger - 

Till she could take her place sedate, 

" Beneath a spray of mistle-finger.' , 






% Wttoman'0 Wlav. 

i^\NE day a pretty maid I met, 
And she had lost her way. 
With tears her tender eyes were wet ; 
" Ah, mel" was all she'd say. 

So I got down upon my knees 

To aid the pretty lass 
To find her way, though not with ease, 

By seeking in the grass. 

To her my purpose I explained, 

And she began to laugh ; 
And in a style that greatly pained 

She railed at me with chaff. 

" Get up, you fool," remarked the maid. 

I hasted to obey, 
Remarking as I faced the jade, 








1 



i 









% ffieautg. 

CHE is a beauty — that is all, 

The princess, empress of the ball. 
She is the wonder of the town, 
With sparkling gems and silken gown. 
Erect, supreme, a dream, a queen; 
The sight one tells of having seen; 
A perfect rose, a lily tall — 
She is a beauty — that is all. 

She is a beauty — that is all. 
Reigning in dance or opera stall. 
With all the soul, say, of the rose 
Or stately lily-bud — God knows. 
With all the heart of sparkling gem, 
Mere fitting for a diadem. 
Though men flock at your faintest call, 
You are a beauty — that is all. 



M 



% 



« 
i 



1 











>*§3ggF 



J 



Sn 1Tmpo56fbflftE. 

A LACKADAY ! He wants my heart, 

My handsome, wayward Willie. 
An' he not get it, we must part 
Forever. O, how silly! 

Alas! I know not that he'll live 
A righteous man and steady; 

But, dearie me, I cannot give 
A heart he has already. 







49 






in %ove. 

Aft Y heart has took a photygraph — ^ 

I couldn't wish a better — 
That makes me want to jump and laugh, 

And try to write a letter. 

But that I can't. I don't know how. 

I'm but a son of labor. 
Nor have I got the nerve to bow — 

And she's my next door neighbor. 

I dare not speak — but do not think 
My speaking so could harm her; 

For she's a regular springtime pink, 
And I am but a farmer. 



I fear I'll never make her know 
I love her well and truly ; 

But I'm just going to love her so • 
It makes me feel so bully. 









*£;> 




50 



W 



w 









Zbe Examination of tbe Go*eD* 

TTHE sweet girl graduate arose 

On oral examination. 
The old professor blew his nose 

And smiled with approbation. 
11 Tell me the author of the line, 

' Where the stagnant torrents flow'?" 
Said he. The maid blushed red as wine 

And answered, " O, I don't know! " 

" You studied it in rhetoric," 

The old professor said. 
" Now see if you can't remember quick. 

It must be in your head. 
Now are you thinking? Tell me, Miss." 

She answered with a wink, 
And a pursing of lips that were fit to kiss, 

11 Why, sir, yes — I don't think." 






fc>3 



W 




5 1 



You fill my soul with keenest pain 

And your ignorance distresses.* ' 
And the old professor tried again : 

"Who wrote the 'Rejected Addresses'?" 
To silence followed a tittering stir 

At the prompt response of the lass: 
" According to my experience, sir, 

Most all the boys in the class.' ' 









I 

I Li 



^^^^^% 



at tbe Carmelites* 

T X 7E talked it over moonlight nights, 

In shadows of the Carmelites, 
Where she, Therese, was one who'd pray 
Unceasingly by night and day; 
And I was one of those blase 
Young men who lingered by the way 
Because that her black hood within 
There was a face as fair as sin — 
Where she would try to turn my thought 
To things that I should do, and ought — 
Where she would lead my soul above, 
And I would drag it down — to love. 



A month I lodged there with the saints, 
And laughed at anxious Ninette's plaints 
From Paris. And when all was done, 
Therese had my poor heart, I — nun. 



M 




53 



Zblnc an& dbfne, 

T FEAR thy kisses, gentle maiden, 
They may be full of bacilli; 

Or with the deadly microbe laden 
To send me to the sky. 

All this I'm told by Doctor Pillem, 

But do not go away. 
The cigarettes that I smoke kill 'em, 

So you may safely stay. 




M 






3 s sa&f; 









I 



5u0t Suited 

\ A/ HEN you have me and I have you 

In bonds of matrimony, 
The skies above will all be blue, 

The dish before us honey. 

Let foolish wise men sneer and scoff, 
We're sure to be contented. 

'Twere meet that they their hats should doff 
And greet love unlamented. 

We are the couple, all agree, 

Just suited to each other; 
For you have gold to dam the sea, 

And haven't any mother. 













1 

3BUB %ow JBabg. 

"\X7'HEN you dress up in black or brown, 

Buy low, baby, buy — 
To go a shopping in the town, 

Buy low, baby, buy — 
Remember I'm not made of gold, 
And buy not all things that are sold; 
And lest you want to hear me scold 

Buy low, baby, buy. 

Oh, lest you'd see me nightly weep, 

Buy low, baby, buy. 
Yes, buy things only that are cheap. 

Buy low, baby, buy. 
And if you'd please me once for all, 
Why, then, buy nothing new at all, 
But wait until some time next fall, 

Buy low, baby, buy. 














w 



Sbe (Save flbe Swag* 

T TOLD my bride about the cake 

My darling mother used to make; 
And then with sighs and many a pout 
My poor wife went the house about. 

I told her of the bread I ate 
When I was aged some six or eight, 
And of the cookies sweet and round 
That in the jar I always found. 

Alas, my mother came to stay 
A week with us the other day; 
She gave our kitchen just one look, 
And sighed, " How I wish /could cook !" 





57 













dftE jfate ie Sealed. 



MOW my financial fate is sealed, 

In dainty sealing wax. 
Unto my wife have been revealed 

Some real cheap sealskin sacques. 

She ordered one. The bill came back* 
Ye gods, such double dealing, — 

(I'd like to give my wife the sack,) — 
'Tis higher than the ceiling. 

To me that bill's a mere skin game, 
A game devoid of feeling. 

I must repudiate the same, 
Or must resort to stealing- 



,^£4 



f // M\\i\\ *•' ^ ~S-> ,S X \S^S>* ^'j 

Mm <£¥i 






d&g Superior ffractfom 

VOU did not think when we were wed, 
That all your sweet domestic capers 

Would be worked up and edited 

And published in the " funny " papers. 

You did not think I'd win the bread 
You bake by writing of the baking; 

And note the queer thoughts in your head, 
And claim them as of my own making. 

Oh, Reading Public, old and young, 
To-night I make you my confessor. 

My quiet wife, unknown, unsung, 

Is more than half of me, God bless her! 









59 




Zbc THttife* 

ITER beauty wondering men of wealth 
In guarded whispers told, 

And gazed upon her as by stealth — 
One ring she wore — plain gold. 

The merchant prince, the millionaire, 

None dared be overbold; 
For though the sun lived in her hair, 

One ring she wore — plain gold. 

The warrior bowed, the courtier smiled, 

In vain the wit cajoled; 
In innocence she was a child — 







60 



^^J^f^^^0 







Gbe Brttst, Zime. 



T^IME, the artist, painted my wife; 

Painted her gray and weak of limb; 



■ gray ; 
Painted her old and tired of life, 

Till I chuckled and laughed and roared 
at him. 



For she has the beauty of flower and star, 
With the rose on her cheek and the star 
in her eye - 
Only she's far more beautiful, far, 

Than the roses of earth or the stars of 
the sky. 

But Time kept on with his crayon and brush, 

And he clad her in black, in a widow's 

gown, 

With a faint sad smile that would bring a hush 
In the noisiest meeting of men in town. 









She was gazing afar, with an upturned face, 
In her hand a locket, a portrait of me; 

And, lo, in her eyes I saw the grace 

Of a woman whose love reached eternity I 

Oh, quickly I grasped the hand of Time, 
Whose pulse-beats measure the years of 
life, 
And cried — and the words came forth in 
rhyme, 
" It is my wife — it is my wife!" 







63 



lb 

ft 






font &ne. 

X X7HEN Love was laughing in my heart, 
I thought all women true. 
I judged them coupled and apart, 
And I knew more than few. 

When sorrow shadowed my poor soul, 
I saw the wrong I'd done; 

For only one of all the whole 
Stood true — aye, only one? 





1. rM 






63 




^X7ITH tangled hair and dirty hands, 

On his mouth, ah, many a crumb, 
He slowly comes to my knee and stands, 
Saying, " I wish mamma'd come." 

My boy, my joy, my prince, my king, 
I clasp him hard with delight; 

And I'd die to tell him that one small thing, 
That " Mamma would come to-night." 

" Long she's been gone," is all that he 
knows, 
" On a journey up to the stars " — 
When the clouds a falling star disclose. 

She's coming," he cries, " see the 
cars." 





Is he the child, or am I the child ? 

" We both are," I cry as I write, 
For though I know all, like a child, I'm wild, 



Wishing " Mamma would come to- 
night." 




65 



















(Setti^ SfraiD of ©o&* 

"TPWAS the silent hour of twilight in our 
home upon the hill, 

And I sat half lost in wonder at some work 
of Nature's will; 

For below me, in the valley, two black storm 
clouds were at war, 

And I felt for just a moment like some Ro- 
man emperor 

Who, to ease his mind from all the madden- 
ing worry of the day, 

Had called his slaves to kill themselves — 
and drive his cares away. 

But the lightning's flash seemed different to 
a rosy little chap, 

My boy, who, worried out with play, was 






cuddled in my lap ; 



Jtt 



I 



Who said, and snuggled closer, with a sleepy 
little nod: 














" Pop, I'm twyin to be a good boy, but I'm 

gettin' afraid of God/ ' 
And my own man's heart contracted with his 

pang of human pain, 
Which entered it and grew there, and now 

comes forth again 
In the form of rhyme and rhythm, in the 

semblance of a song 
That I pray may reach some hopeless ones 

and help the world along; 
That may give some frail one courage when 

the golden gate unbars ; 
That may help some stumbling sinner on his 

journey to the stars. 



When the road is rough and hilly, and the 

days are black as night ; 
When in your secret heart you know you 

have not chosen right; 
When the burden seems too heavy, and it's 

far away to town; 




67 



. 



I 

1^ 



w 

\\\ 






f^ ; 



When coward Conscience hits you, and hits 

you when you're down; 
When friends pass by unsmilingly, and ene- 
mies revile; 
When you and she have parted, with no 

friend to reconcile; 
When, at last, you know too surely that 

you've left some things undone, 
And done some things that were not right; 

have lost instead of won ; 
When you're longing, but so fearfully, for a 

home that's roofed with sod; 
In a word, when like my little boy you're 

"gettin' afraid of God " ; 
Remember that He knows it all. He's heard 

it o'er and o'er. 
He knows in all His wisdom that you never 

lived before. 
He's been forgiving sinners since the days of 

Eve and Cain, 



1 



I 



n 

• 



« 







^f- 




And in His mighty mercy He will forgive 

again. 
He's been watching o'er this cradle world 

since the first flower grew wild, 
Like a weary, patient father o'er his sick and 

dying child. 
So, when with hesitating feet you join the 

trembling line 
Of battered human wretches who are facing 

the Divine ; 
And when it comes your turn to plead before 



the highest court, 



Remember that His mercy is your best and 

last resort. 
And while you may not raise your head, just 

plead with confidence 
That time-worn plea, " Your Honor, it was 

my first offense." 



^5> 







SS3 




JBoe %oeU 

4 * D O Y lost ! ' ' — these are the words I cry — 

Lost unto me forever. 
Nothing left now but to struggle and die, 
To mourn till the soul cords sever. 

" Boy lost !" — one with an innocent heart 
And a soul as white as a lily; 

And my man's heart bears a poisoned dart, 
And the winds mourn for me shrilly. 

44 Boy lost ! " Yes, and I was the boy. 

Man must I be hereafter, 
With strength to make worrying work my toy 

And to greet defeat with laughter. 

44 Boy lost ! " Yes, and that boy was I, 
And down in my heart I'm fain 

To kneel and ask the Father on high 
To make me a boy again. 



70 



3oo Xatc. 









/~\ TIME, turn back a single page, 

And let me blot a word — 
A single word that death nor age 
Can ever make unheard. 






Give me the chance of yesterday 
To choose the path aright; 

Nor leave me in the sunken way 
To grope throughout the night. 

I did not think. I did not know. 

I did not guess the truth. 
My sin was but the old one — lo ! 

The ignorance of youth. 




2/A 



prager ot Curse, 

AX/ HAT did he mean when he called on 

God 
As he fell on the sod ? 
Was it the prayer of a rider rough, 
Sometime cowboy, oftener tough, 
Brought from the sands of a Western plain 
Because he was used to the thing called 

" pain,' ■ 
And was not afraid to be marked down 

" slain "? 
What did he mean? 

Was it a curse — that soldier's oath ? 
Nay, to believe it, God will be loth. 



72 







1Tn tbe Xtsts. 



T OVE rode into the lists with a smile, 
And the air of triumph he always wore, 

Though he had journeyed full many a mile; 
For that day he would be king, he swore. 

Hate he slew with a single stroke, 

Pain as readily bit the dust, 
Envy flew with his sword thrice broke, 

Wrong gave way as he always must. 

Sir Lie fled writhing with mortal pain, 

Scandal, the scoundrel, coward-like fled; 

While Fear with a glance at the row of slain 
Fell back in his saddle dead. 






Then entered the lists a knight in gray, 

And the name on his shield was 
"Doubt"; 

While Love gave a look of blank dismay 
And was utterly put to rout. 






73 




iJ^ 3 







Allusions, 

C TRAIGHT in the footsteps of our sires 
We walk the path of life. 
We light again their death cold fires, 
And fight their olden strife. 

We think we live a life our own, 

And glory in the thought; 
Though we are but the changeless stone 

That God, the Sculptor, wrought. 

We are but echoes of a dream; 

Mere shadows of the past. 
All things are we but what w r e seem: 

Mere dreams — and not the last, 





pz** 



J^%^^% 



3BIue 2)a^a an& MxtQbt. 

A LAS for the days when we think men 
false — 
All of the men, yes, all — 
When the mind grows blank and the tired 
heart halts 
At that story of man, the Fall; 
When life seems death or worse than death, 
And love has the life of a single breath 
And flees at the first man's call! 



t 



But oh for the days when we think men true — 

All of the men, yes, all — 
When we think of the work that all men do, 

And forget that tale of the Fall; 
When life seems worth the striving to live, 
And love seems worth the return we give 

And flees at no man's call! 







Cbe JJoofc of tbe TOotlo. 

T NEED no volume of verses 

Where music and dreams combine. 

I know where the better and worse is, 
The Book of the World is mine. 

There's grandeur up on the mountain, 
There's love in the flowery vale, 

Romance by the moonlit fountain, 
And mirth by the swelling sail. 

There's peace in that humble cottage 
Where a mother sings to her child, 

Where the grandfather nods in his dotage 
And the breadwinner's smile is mild. 



There's tragedy, there in that mansion, 

Where knowledge came just too late; 
And coming, grew by expansion 



To suspicion, and then to hate. 



76 




V 

41 



I need no volume of verses, 

Nor draught of Pierian wine. 

I hear the laughter and curses, 

The Book of the World is mine. 




17 



XLbc 1R06C an& tbe TKHomam 

DOOR little rose, how sweet! how sweet? 

Poor little rose of the city street. 
Sold unto woman or child or man. 
Tell what your fate will be, who can? 
Something that's wrong or something that's 

meet. 
Which will it be, little rose so sweet? 



Poor little rose, how weak, how weak! 
Rose of the hill, so bleak! so bleak! 
Blown by the wind till you lie flat, 
And crushed by the heel of man at that. 
Like to your sister, with like-hued cheek — 
Poor little rose so weak, so weak I 

& 



* 




Poor little woman and poor little rose! 
Why was the likeness made so ? God knows, 
But hail ye from city or hail ye from town, 
Dress ye in satin or calico gown, 
Your fate is the same and equally meet. 
Poor little woman so weak and sweet! 












2)reams* 

'THERE are dreams too false and dreams 

too true, 
Dreams that are fraught with a fond 

delight, 
But my tenderest dreams are my dreams of 

you. 



There are dreams of sleep and day dreams, 
too, 
Dreams both of light and eternal night. 
There are dreams too false and dreams too 
true. 

My whole sad life is a dreamland blue 

With the warm mists of a mountain 
height. 



But my tenderest dreams are my dreams of 










jM^— ^ 



There are dreams of love — when I would 

woo, 
Dreams that my pen can no more indite. 
There are dreams too false and dreams too 

true. 




I'm a dreamer of things that I wish to do, 
Not for myself, but for you, my sprite; 
But my tenderest dreams are my dreams of 
you. 

is all my life your heart to woo. 
Tell me, my sweet, am I dreaming right? 
There are dreams so false and dreams so true. 
May my tenderest dreams still be of you? 







ftvvo jfanctes* 

HTHIS is the fancy that came last night, 
That came when the moon rose over 
the hill 

And we two stood in its silvery light 
By the broken wheel of the mill. 






This is the fancy — that long ago 

When the old dead moon was a thing of 
life — 
A younger world, as the wise men know — 

That we were moon man and wife. 

For the thought had come, and is with me yet, 
That we were not strangers that sweet 
first time 

When eager and shy our young eyes met, 
And love rang its silent chime. 



I 

W 
I 



i 



^ 



4nV 









<V0 



And this is the fancy that cheers my heart 
When it feels despair — though die we 
must — 

That our souls will never be far apart 

Though our bodies turn wind-blown dust. 



And that far away in the realms of space, 
In worlds that are better by far than this, 

Again and again I shall seek your face 
And win your first maiden kiss. 




83 




tKllbere are j?ou ? 

OOMEWHEREoutonthecold,graysphere 
There is waiting a girl called " you, ,, 
Waiting for me in hope and fear 
And wondering what I'll do. 

Shall I be all your fancy says ? 

(I'll secretly tell you "yes.") 
Shall I be rich with steady ways ? 

I'll leave you all that to guess. 

Shall I be straight and young and tall, 
And handsome, brave, and strong? 

Shall I be to you all in all ? 

To tell you would be wrong. 

All I can say is, here am I, 

And wait for you, all I can do. 

I know where I am under the sky, 
But where in the world are you ? 




f 







1Tn StarHgbt. 



V 



/^VFT when the night is white, 

White with the shimmer of stars, 
I see a face, 
In a far off place, 
Where the golden gate unbars. 



There are tears in her watching eyes, 
Though the angel chorus rings 
In her heedless ears, 
And the two sad tears 
Tell why she never sings. 



W 




2sa& 



§6 



TRobc ano fltnfc. 

A H ! but to love is to live. 

When love is dead we die. 
Heart for heart we give 

And take them back with a sigh. 

Perfume of pink and rose were we, 

Melted by morning sun ; 
And we journeyed forth by land and sea 

And told the world we were one. 








Engaged 

T NTO the harbor of my heart 
She hurried from the storm ; 

And from it she will ne'er depart. 
I hold her close and warm. 



kl3 

4 



My sturdy arms encircle her 
And furled are all her sails. 

From me she never more will stir 
To dare life's wintry gales. 

She cast her anchor, free of will. 

Into my breast it stole, 
To hold her hard and fast until 

She sinks into my soul. 



J?S^ 




d§3 






87 




dBa£ anD December* 

THE ivied wall, the ivied wall, 
Is a cataract green and gray — 

Rock with an ivy waterfall 

Throwing out grass green spray. 

The rain that gives to one its life 
Will crumble the other away. 

The golden rain feeds the fair young wife, 
But murders the husband gray. 




a 



M 



lr 



I 



Go Gbtebe. 

A FLOAT — afloat! 
Her soul my boat 
And thought the sea I'm sailing; 
Her love the gale, 
Her eyes my sail 
No weary fancy trailing. 

I find delights, 

Such joys, such sights, 
That all the world is laughter. 

We spurn the gods, 

Their frowns, their nods, 
Now and 1 








cr 



Cbe IRareat (Bern* 



'THE young red rose it laughs at me 

For jealousy of her ; 
The saucy squirrel chaffs at me 

From the branches of the fir. 



1 



The brook reflects her dainty face 

And boasts it's fair as she, 
As it runs its everlasting race 

From the mountain to the sea. 

You are, oh foolish brook and rose, 

In nature's diadem, 
But you're the setting — she, God knows, 

Is the rare, the radiant gem. 




Cbe pebbles* 

OEST we here in the dark green grasses; 
A bed of my arms for thee I'll make; 
And up above, where the white cloud 
passes, 
The depths you shall see of a great blue 
lake. 

The white clouds there are swans, my 
dearest ; 

Snow white swans on a lake of blue, 
As white as the very love thou f earest ; 

Thy soul is the same pure white in hue. 



And down, down, down, where the blue 
lake's deepest, 
See the pebbles that keep 



where the blue 

• 1 

i it pure, 



nV» 



The gold star pebbles, the deepest, steepest; 
The gold star pebbles that aye endure. 





i 



A SWIFT flash in the evening sky, 

Above the elm where doves are calling; 
A fiery streak, with flaming eye, 
A star, another star is falling ! 

God put her with her sisters there, 

She would not stop, she would not stay. 

The God-forbidden she would dare, 
And daring cast her soul away. 

A molten drop is she in hell, 

But up above, still bright, secure, 

Her myriad sisters ever dwell 

To light man's pathway to the pure. 






ITn tbe tfttgbt 

T^HE day belongs to all mankind 

To fight, to strive and struggle in. 
For they are mad and they are blind 
To all night's attributes, save sin. 

But in the night I see far more 
Than all the day can show to me. 

I see the folk of fairy lore, 

The sprites of air and land and sea. 

And when the wind is whispering 
Its secrets to the bending trees, 

I hear the tales of love that Spring 
Has spread o'er all the lands and seas. 

I see such sights, I hear such things, 
That never more I crave the light. 

I hear the fluttering of wings 
And wish it were eternal night. 




fi 




, \X7HEN Mother Nature bore the world 
She clasped it to her breast ; 

She bathed it where a brooklet purled, 

Then in white clouds 'twas dressed. 



/* 



Again she clasped it to her breast, 

Sang to it soothingly, 
And whispered : "I love you the best ; 

You're all the world tomel" 




94 



^0^^P^^ 




It. 

I F 'twere only real warm in December 
And the snow would but fall in July, 

There would then be a year to remember 
Till the dark dreary day that we die. 



If fuel were plenty as water, 

And gas quite as free as the air, 

We could live our life more as we oughter, 
Without half the temptation to swear. 












vut 








c? 









& jflBotton TKttitb&rawm 

YXTHAT is this we read 

Of " One horse power " ? 
Out upon the screed 1 

'Tis not the horse's hour. 

Brains are now the thing, 
Neither cringe nor cower, 

A better unit bring, — 

'Tis u One man's power.'* 





\C 

'T'HERE was a man made a fortune in steel. 

Sensible man ! Sensible man ! 

Another one, he made a fortune in "steal." 

Reprehensible man ! Reprehensible man ! 

Steel is so strong, 
To steal is so wrong. 
Which man would you rather be — grant- 
ing you can? 

This question I asked of my Sunday-school 

class, 
Eleven dull boys and a bright little lass. 
The boys were as dumb as an old cedar 

post, 
The girl asked me quietly," Which made the 






most? 










97 






Gbe " mew " i>oet. 

TJERE'S a bay for the bard of the 

"dinky dink' ' style, 
The man who turns poetry out by the mile; 
Who makes his own words and who makes 

his own rhyme, 
And mingles them up in a jingle sublime. 
Ah me ! I would think this world brimming 

with bliss, 
If I could sell poetry written like this : 



There was a squat man in the land of Pee 

Wee 
Who went out to walk with a Ting- a- Ling 

Tee. 



They walked with a biff and a buff and a 
bang, 




h^^^^^M 




While "Rig-a-jig-jigget," the Ting-a-Ling 



sang, 



The chorus of which, as you know, I dare 

say, 
Is " Timothy- wimothy-bimothy hay." 



Now that is the jingle and that is the sense. 
It's not very deep and it's not very dense. 
To write it by furlongs is not very hard ; 
But to sell it requireth a mercantile bard ; 
A good man of business affairs and all that. 
Whenever I meet him I take off my hat. 




99 



/fta£ 2>ag* 



?*■ 



• 



•THE first of May 

Is moving day 

Through all the mighty city. 

It's fret and frown 

O'er all the town. 

It moves my heart with pity. 

The man of muscle 

Is a- hustle 
From early morn till night. 

I hear him swear 

Upon the stair. 
I fear he's getting tight. 

The baby howls, 

The bulldog growls, 
The housewife's full of fears. 

'Tis moving day 

Again I say. 
It moves my soul to tears. 

ft 












w 



DY way of legal praecipe, 

I here announce a recipe 
For Pugilistic Punch — quite plain — 
Take one full case of good champagne, 
A quart or two of prime old brandy 
Now add to this, if it is handy. 
Then, though the mixture's getting risky, 
Put in a gallon jug of whisky. 
Add sugar, bought from Sugar Trust, 
And spices powdered into dust. 
Now add some absinthe, as you ponder, 
For i • absinthe makes the heart grow fonder, ' ' 
Now turn the helm up hard to port, 
Then dash with bitters — any sort. 






i 



Drink hearty, for no care will vex us 
When this has reached our solar plexus. 

4 





s *yr 



IOI 




1 



^%#^ : 



Co a Gbermometer* 



"\ X7E watch your dull, insipid face, 

You heartless, soulless, brainless lout, 
And, as you say, remain in place 
Or dare to venture out. 

We put you in a shady nook 

And watch you with a ceaseless care. 
We note your movements in a book — 

And at some of them swear. 



We order ice when you arise, 

We order coal when you go down; 
And so you run the enterprise 

Of quite one half the town. 

We'd never know that it was hot 
Unless you grimly told us so. 

We'd never know how cold it got 
Did you not fall so low. 



fe^ 






I 



if 
1 

M 
1 



102 






By Jove ! 'Twould rid us of one care 
If we'd forego your mad revealings, 

And cast you in the rubbish there 

And trust entirely to our feelings. 






m 




%fiS/Z} 



i°3 






;<M 



w 
















Gbe TKHfneless Dinner 

TJERE'S to the wineless dinner ! 

Drink it in water clear, 
Never a quaff for a sinner 

Of sherry, champagne, or beer. 

Here's to the latest function, 
The last, most ultimate fad ! 

Swallow your " polly " with unction, 
Society's gone to the bad — 

Gone with the lilt of laughter 
That followed the draft of wine. 

No longer we're chasing after 
An invitation to dine. 












fa #</^\ 



A LITTLE dog I wish I were, 

For then I know she'd hug me, 
And like unto her own real cur 
Around the town she'd lug me. 




=m» 






I wish I were a kitten, too, 

For then she would caress me; 

And press me to her bosom, you 

Have seen how she would bless me. 

I wish I were the Blarney Stone 
For then I know she'd kiss me. 

Our chappies would be less by one, 
But not a soul would miss me. 



1 



Mi 








At close of day 

I seek the play 
And loll back in the great parquet. 

Anon at Brown's 

How soon care drowns, 
While toasting Gotham — Queen of towns I 








Gbe Saflot's Gbotce. 



01 
# 

DLOW me madly, breath of the gale. 

Still will my laughter mock. 
Blow away rigging and masts and sail 
And dash me up on the rock. 



Tear me apart in your fiendish glee, 

Do all this if you will, — 
But leave me not on the stagnant sea 

Where none can use his will. 













The north wind bears no odor of palm, 
But a scent of the salt instead. 

So a curse on the balm, and a curse on 
calm, 
Of the sea of the living dead I 




MAY f % 1899 



11 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




012 074 177 9 



